


Don't Be Sorry

by you_were_my_stars



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Has A Crush, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_were_my_stars/pseuds/you_were_my_stars
Summary: Bucky Barnes has a crush on his best friend, but he's trying not to think about it. Or at least, he's trying to try.





	Don't Be Sorry

Steve was cooking dinner in the kitchen of their small apartment when his best friend emerged from the hall. Fresh from the shower, with his hair still wet, Bucky smiled. The two had lived together for seven months now, but Steve still sometimes felt strange with someone else so close by all the time. After he lost his mom two years ago, Bucky became the only person he ever really felt close to. Bucky tried to shake the constant sympathy he felt toward his friend, knowing Steve would hate him for it, but it was a tough thing to reckon with. No eighteen-year-old should ever have to lose their mother.  
Steve smiled up at him, standing over the stove, stirring a pot of stew. “Dinner’s gonna be ready in a minute or two,” he said.  
Bucky stifled a laugh, “You know, we might just make a decent housewife outta you yet.”  
The younger man shook his head, “I’m still pretty sure you’re cheating somehow.”  
“It was your coin!”  
Neither of them liked to cook, but neither one of them was particularly awful at it either, so deciding who fixed any shared meals usually came down to a coin toss. Steve turned off the flame, “Set the table would ya?”  
Another mischievous smile, “Yes ma’am.”

…

After dinner the two sat on the couch, Bucky listened to the baseball game on the radio with less than whole-hearted devotion, paying more attention to Steve’s hands as he sketched a simple landscape. When Steve got up for a drink, Bucky couldn’t peel his eyes away from his friend. This happened more often than he cared to admit, usually in the evening, usually when it was quiet. He couldn’t resist studying his roommate’s slight form. His slender shoulders and thin waist. Steve hated those the most. Any time it came up, Bucky found it took a lot of self-control to avoid explaining to Steve in perfect detail all the reasons he was beautiful.  
The moment lasted a few meager seconds before Steve turned back to him and he had to avert his eyes. Bucky decided to join him in the kitchen, he could go for a mug of something warm. In the winter months, their apartment had a nasty habit of succumbing to the freezing February chill. And with leaky windows and poor insulation, the one small furnace they shared couldn’t dream of keeping up.

…

Bucky woke to the sound of his door creaking open. It was completely dark, but he knew without even looking that it was Steve. There was something distinctive about his presence somehow. Bucky rubbed his eyes, “What’s up?”  
Steve looked down at his feet, “Can I come in? I’m freezing down there.”  
Bucky nodded and moved over to one side of the bed, making room. When they originally chose who would sleep where, they decided that Steve would stay downstairs- because the summer heat would be more bearable there- and Bucky would sleep upstairs in the loft- because while he could take the heat, he couldn’t stand the bitter cold. Steve’s soft steps padded over to the bed and he gingerly sat down, slipping beneath the covers.  
_This shouldn’t feel strange,_ Bucky told himself over and over and over again. _This shouldn’t feel strange. This shouldn’t feel strange._ The two had shared a bed dozens of times. Any time Steve spent the night when they were kids, they would curl up side by side and no one ever batted an eye. _No one should,_ Bucky chided himself again, hating the way his heart quickened as his best friend settled into the sheets. Hating himself for not hating it enough. He could feel himself blushing. Thank God it was too dark for Steve to notice.  
Steve was still shivering a few minutes later. It was all Bucky could do not to wrap his arms around him. He tried not to think of what that would feel like. He was failing. He took slow breaths, pushed aside thoughts of how it might feel if Steve rested his head on his chest. How warm and heavy he’d be. If his hair would feel as soft as looked. He snapped back into reality as Steve sighed and shifted a little closer.  
“You okay?” Bucky asked hesitantly.  
“I’m fine.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yeah, I just can’t seem to get comfortable.”  
“Mm, I’m sorry.”  
Steve met his friend’s eyes, “Don’t be, it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.”  
Bucky bit his lower lip, _There’s more I could do about it than you know,_ he thought. Steve moved even closer, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder hesitantly. Bucky suddenly felt unable to breathe. Neither of them spoke for a while, Bucky squirmed a bit, trying to slow his heartbeat. It was pounding in his ears. _Please, please, please don’t let Steve hear it,_ he begged to no one.  
Bucky nodded, and carefully rested a hand on Steve’s back. After another painfully long pause, he said, “You’re warm,” trying to cut the tension.  
Steve sounded more at ease now, “So are you.”

_____ _

_____ _

…

When Bucky woke again, he was alone. He groggily rolled out of bed, kicking himself for feeling disappointed. _It was all a dream,_ he thought. Somehow, that was so much worse than if it were real. Also, what kind of normal guy has dreams about lying in bed with another guy? What was wrong with him? He tried to shake it off as he dressed and fumbled down the stairs for some breakfast. Maybe he’d be able to push it away easier after a mug of coffee.  
As he sat down at the table in the cramped kitchen, he noticed Steve avoiding eye contact. Bucky tried to mask his panic. _Maybe he knows,_ his mind was racing, _ugh, look at him he knows everything. How am I gonna explain this? What is he gonna think of me?_ Steve swallowed a bite of toast before taking a deep breath and finally looking across the table at his companion.  
“Um, so about last night,” Steve began.  
Bucky’s stomach was in knots, “What happened last night?”  
Steve got very quiet, “Y’know, when I… came into your room?”  
“Oh,” Bucky’s lunges didn’t seem to be working, _I didn’t imagine it! I knew I didn’t imagine it!_ “yeah that…” the look in Steve’s eyes was cause enough for concern. _Dammit dammit dammit dammit! He’s freaked out! Of course he’s freaked out! He’s probably disgusted by me._  
“Listen,” Steve seemed nervous, “I’m sorry,” _What?_ “I know it was weird, I just…” _What?_ “I don’t know, I guess I can’t really explain it.”  
Before Bucky could stop the words, “Don’t be sorry,” from falling out of his mouth, he uttered them. Each syllable landing in the far too small yet far too large space between them.  
Steve looked up, confused, “Really?”  
Their eyes met, “Uh…” Bucky tried to ignore how his palms were beginning to sweat, “I just mean, y’know, I… I guess I don’t… mind.”  
Steve still just stared at him, dumbstruck, “Really?”  
Bucky hesitated, then nodded. Steve smiled like he was grateful to be able to breathe again.

_____ _

_____ _

...

Bucky was anxiously pacing up and down the kitchen the following evening, checking the clock seemingly every other second. Steve was supposed to have clocked out almost an hour ago, and it normally only took him twenty-five minutes or so to walk home. So understandably, Bucky was trying not to worry. Trying not to think about Steve shivering in the misery of the cruel winter air of New York. His mind jumped from one worst-case scenario to another. He couldn’t stop picturing his best friend freezing to death in that too-thin coat and worn out pair of boots.  
When the door finally creaked open, Bucky nearly leaped out of his skin. “Where the hell have you been?”  
Steve slowly shrugged his coat off his shoulders, “Got hung up at work, plus I was walkin’ straight into the wind the whole way here.”  
Bucky tried not to stare as the other man trudged off to his room for some dry clothes. He tried not to watch the way his spine sagged with fatigue. He tried not to imagine wrapping his arms around that slender neck and rubbing those weary shoulders until he heard snoring. He tried not to consider the way it would feel to have Steve’s arms around his waist. He did everything he possibly could not to remember the brush of Steve’s breath on his neck the night before. It was no use.  
After sharing dinner, they stood side by side washing the dishes. It had been uncharacteristically silent for several minutes when Steve finally spoke up, “Is something on your mind?” he probed.  
Bucky felt like he had swallowed his own tongue, _Well, you seem to be on my mind a lot these days._ “No, why? Is something up?”  
The blonde smiled awkwardly, “Not really, it’s just…” he wasn’t sure if he should press, “you’ve just been awfully quiet all night. And, you’re really only like that when something’s bothering you.”  
Bucky’s dark eyes studied the floor, “I’m fine,” he fibbed, “there just hasn’t been much to say I guess.” It was a weak excuse, but he polished it with a smile and hoped it was believable.  
Unconvinced, Steve figured it was time for a subject change as he placed the last pot in the cabinet. “Did I tell you about what happened Thursday morning?”  
Raised eyebrows, over-emphasized curiosity, “No, what?”  
Steve launched into a story about some ridiculous person he’d come across on the walk to work. Bucky made every effort to pay attention, but he kept getting distracted by Steve’s lips. Each time he managed to avert his gaze, he almost immediately got drawn back in. Steve eventually caught on to the fact that Bucky wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation at all.  
His sentence trailed off, “Okay, I give up!” he said finally. “What’s wrong?”  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
“Come on, I’ve known you my whole life, you think I can’t tell when you’re not listening to me?”  
Bucky looked apologetic but said nothing.  
“Is this about last night?”  
Frustrated, the brunette shook his head, “It has nothing to do with that.”  
Steve’s hands molded themselves into nervous fists at his sides, his voice suddenly became soft, “Is it something I did?”  
“No! No, this is… the opposite of your fault.” Bucky couldn’t stand the way his voice trembled. He forced himself to look away from Steve. It was probably the only way he’d be able to regain any semblance of focus.  
“Look,” Steve cautiously brought his right hand up to rest on Bucky’s shoulder, _Shit, it feels like electricity._ “whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that.”  
Bucky made the cardinal mistake of staring right into those glassy blue eyes. In a sickening moment of sheer impulsiveness, he surged forward and pressed his mouth to Steve’s. Steve’s first audible reaction was one of surprise, followed by one of pleasure. A few seconds passed before Bucky pulled away, his breath shaking.  
Steve’s eyes opened slowly, “Bucky…” his voice was weak.  
“I’m so sorry,” Bucky whispered before he retreated up the stairs, tears stinging his eyes.

_____ _

_____ _

…

Steve knocked softly on the open door of Bucky’s room. The latter was facing away from the door, clutching his knees to his chest, trying to steady his breathing. Steve stepped in lightly, as if afraid he might break something. Gingerly, he sat down next to Bucky, who seemed tense to the point of snapping. _This is it,_ Bucky thought, wringing his hands, _this is the part where he freaks out. This is the part where he decides he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore._ He flinched when Steve slowly reached over to him and sighed nervously when his hands were gently covered by one of Steve’s.  
The silence was too long. It started to feel heavy as guilt began to weigh down on Bucky’s chest. He stared down at Steve’s cracked knuckles, “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be sorry,” Steve breathed.  
Their eyes met. Three magic words hung again in the air between them. Bucky tried in vain to hold his tongue, to stop the question from being asked, “Why not?” _You stupid stupid idiot,_ he thought.  
Steve carefully shifted his hands to hold Bucky’s, haltingly, he said, “Well, did you mean it? Like…” a desperate hesitation, “do you… is that really how you feel?”  
Bucky’s heart was racing, he opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. Fear closed around his throat, but there was no way he could lie, not now. He berated himself relentlessly, _What is wrong with you? You’ll ruin whatever could possibly be left of this friendship._ Even so, he choked out a shaky, “Yeah,” hating himself.  
Bucky prepared for the worst, unsure if Steve would want to shout at him or hit him. But a split second later, the world turned upside down as Steve, trembling with anxiety, lurched forward and kissed him, hard and long. Bucky couldn’t breathe. His vision started to blur as his eyelids drifted shut. Something warm and wonderful was rising in his chest. Steve’s hands wandered up into Bucky’s hair. Then hesitantly, he pulled back. Steve’s hands rested on Bucky’s neck. Bucky’s arms were draped loosely around Steve’s waist. Two pounding hearts. Two nervous grins.


End file.
